Sights Best Unseen
by DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: It was too late, there was nothing he could do. The future was already set in stone. Canon Character Death.


**Disclaimer** \- I own nothing you recognise.

 **Thanks to the lovely Sam for Beta'ing.**

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Written for the lovely Amber.

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 **Sights Best Unseen**

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The first time it happened, he dismissed it entirely. It was a coincidence, strange, but certainly nothing he needed to worry about. Divination was a waste of time, and the idea that he could be a seer was completely and utterly laughable. Regulus didn't have time to be worrying about tea leaves and crystal balls. He had enough on his plate without worrying about random future events that may or may not come to happen.

He ignores the dreams, even when they become more and more detailed. At first, it had been glimpses of unfamiliar faces for the most part, occasionally a word or two, and once, a scream. As time passed, he would see conversations play out in his dream, he would see first meetings and last words. He would see arguments that turned into fights, and fights that were left with only one victor.

Never were the dreams about himself or the people he knew. Perhaps that's why they were so simple to dismiss as unimportant.

He received proof that his dreams weren't just dreams on a Monday. Only the night before, he'd seen a Hogwarts student, a Hufflepuff if one was to go by his tie, fall down a staircase. He'd watched as blood poured from the boy's head as staff crowded around, shouting for space so as to move the boy quickly to the hospital wing. When it happened, Regulus could only be thankful that he was close to a bathroom. The nausea was worse that he'd ever experienced before and the beating heart in his chest hurt, it was battering around so quickly.

Still determined to ignore what his dreams were telling him, Regulus could only thank Merlin that he didn't see people he knew in his dreams. He didn't know that he'd be able to dismiss an event quite so easily should it happen to be someone he knew.

Only... then he had a dream about Rabastan Lestrange. He knew the older boy vaguely, their families were due to be joined by Bellatrix and Rodolphus over the coming summer. Rabastan appeared to be in pain at first glance, but as the dream image got larger and showed the room as a whole, it soon became clear that Rabastan was feeling anything but pain. A nameless boy was on the floor at his feet, and Rabastan's head was thrown back in pleasure, his moans the only sound Regulus could hear.

When he woke up, for the first time, he had a physical reaction to one of his dreams.

 _Ashamed, he refused to satisfy his reaction. He shouldn't be seeing these things. It wasn't right._

Dreamless sleep was soon Regulus' only escape from the things he saw while sleeping. He didn't want to see the things he saw, he didn't want to know the future, be it important events or not. He didn't want his dreams to be plagued by real events, no matter their content. He could finally sleep without fear after taking the potion. The problem, of course, was that the addictive nature of Dreamless Sleep was undeniable. He couldn't take it every night, not if he wanted to remain sane.

Barely sleeping on the nights he was unable to take the potion was taking it's toll on Regulus. He was constantly tired, his schoolwork was suffering and his teachers were noticing. He'd always been a good student, always got top marks, but as he entered his sixth year at Hogwarts, Regulus was struggling to hold himself together. He could see people watching him with suspicion and occasionally pity which was so much worse. He could hear the whispers about him, that he was succumbing to the pressure of his dark family, that he would be joining the Dark Lord if he hadn't already.

The idea that any of them thought he had a choice in such a matter made him laugh bitterly. Even without his 'gift', Regulus would be marked as a Death Eater in the summer. Of that, there was no doubt, and he didn't need his dreams to tell him that.

It wasn't until midway through the year that he had his first dream about himself. He'd fallen asleep in the library, unable to keep his eyes open no matter the effort he put in. His dream was familiar. It was the first dream he'd had that he'd had a reaction to, only this time, he was the boy on his knees. Rabastan was stroking his hair, his body lax and sated in the chair.

"You're a good boy, Regulus. I'll be sure to tell our Lord."

When Regulus woke, it was to tears on his face and an erection hidden by his robes. He didn't want that to happen but he wasn't sure if there was any way to change his dreams. He'd never tried. He'd never had a vested interest in changing one before after all.

 _He would later learn he could change them... but that particular dream still came true._

After the first dream about himself, it was like a barrier had been broken. He couldn't fight them. Visions of himself could beat even the strongest of Dreamless Sleep, and in the end, he gave up on the potion. If he was having visions regardless, there was no point risking an addiction that could break his already tenuous connection with sanity.

He had visions of randomly mundane moments such as eating breakfast in the Great Hall, or studying in the library. He had visions of conversations in class or the hallways with various people. He had visions of his exams and his subsequent graduation. He had visions of being branded as a Death Eater. He had visions of himself becoming a murderer.

Intermittently, he still had visions of others. His brother would become an Auror. Oddly enough, he had a vision of Sirius in an Azkaban cell sometime later in life if the way Sirius looked was any indication. He thought briefly to send a letter of warning, but really? How could he explain such a thing without it sounding like a thinly veiled threat when he didn't even know what Sirius was going to do to land himself there in the first place?

He had a vision of his mother crying by the tapestry, her hand on his name. He couldn't say why she would be doing such a thing. Was he going to be blasted off the wall as well?

He had a vision of Bellatrix cackling as she spun her wand in her hand, Rodolphus standing behind her, his eyes flashing dangerously as he watched his wife.

He had vision after vision of people he didn't know, doing things he didn't care about. He saw them laughing, crying, screaming, giggling, living and dying, and he envied every single one of them because they didn't have to live with the images in their minds.

 _He never did stop envying people their freedom. It was the one thing he craved, and the one thing he lacked._

Regulus remembered every second of the vision he had of taking the Dark Mark, and yet, as he lived the moment, he couldn't believe the differences. Seeing it in his mind hadn't given him the pain in his arm. Watching it as though from above hadn't let him feel the terror, tension and excitement in the room. Watching himself hadn't given him a view of the boy behind him, the last to be marked at the ceremony, but he wished it had.

Bartemius Crouch Jr. Regulus recognised him vaguely from school. His eyes were hungry, his desires to both serve and to prove himself were palpable, and Regulus felt a rush of... something for the young man. He stood to the side, cradling his arm as much as he could without appearing weak, watching the scene as though it were one of his visions. There was something strangely attractive about him, Regulus thought, something that drew him in, made him want to know more about this man.

He wanted to know why he was here. He wanted to know what he wanted from life. He wanted to know why he was giving his life over to the Dark Lord when, as a Crouch, surely he wasn't being pushed into it by an insistent family. Regulus wanted to know what was making this man throw his life away, and more than that, he wanted to know why.

The new Death Eaters were given masks once all the marks had been given. Regulus, simply because he was a Black, and therefore expected to be better, was given a silver mask, while the rest were given grey ones. Regulus would automatically be expected to be harsher, to show less fear, to show more bloodlust, to be darker and a better murderer.

 _He couldn't help but wish he'd been born of a different name, a different bloodline._

"Want one?"

Regulus glanced to the side, surprised when he saw a cigarette packet being held out to him. He accepted it with a quiet thanks, lighting it silently. He'd discovered during the summer of his sixth year that nicotine was helpful to calm him after a vision. He'd found the cigarettes stashed in Sirius' room. The last thing his brother had unknowingly given him. He supposed he should be grateful.

"How are you feeling?"

Turning his attention to the man beside him, Regulus could barely stop the shiver of anticipation running down his spine. Rabastan was watching him with hooded eyes, his own cigarette hanging loosely between two fingers.

"Fine," Regulus replied, almost automatically. It was the answer he most often used after all. He couldn't exactly tell people how he was really feeling most of the time. They'd either try and use him for their own gain, or they'd ridicule him for being one of those 'wannabee seers.' He didn't have time for it.

"Come on, Black. The Dark Lord has entrusted you to me for... training. Wouldn't want to disappoint him, would we?"

"Of course not."

 _He hadn't expected it to feel so good, when he'd seen it in his mind._

Regulus returned to school, a notice me not charm on his arm and a heavy feeling on his shoulders. He saw Bartemius everywhere now, in the corridors, in the library, in the Great Hall... it was like he had a constant _Point Me_ spell on him. Crouch ignored him for the most part, only the gleam when their eyes met showing that he even recognised Regulus as more than just another student.

Regulus was surprised he didn't have visions of him. With so much of his conscious attention caught by him, surely his subconsciousness should be getting in on it as well?

It was harder, pretending to care about school now. With the weight of the mark on his arm and the constant slew of visions he didn't want still storming his mind, Regulus couldn't help but wonder why he was putting the effort in anymore. Why did he need to graduate if he was only going into the service of the Dark Lord when he was done? What was the point? And more so, why should he care?

Rabastan sent cigarettes weekly, often with lustful comments attached, inviting a second occurrence of their... training, when Regulus was done with school. That brief correspondence was about the only thing that could bring a smile to Regulus' face for the duration of the first half of his seventh year, and he occasionally entertained the idea of a continuation of their... training.

 _He didn't see this in his visions and it frustrated him. What good were they if they didn't tell him what to do?_

"Ooh, Black, naughty, naughty."

Regulus looked behind him from his perch in the Astronomy tower, rolling his eyes when he saw Crouch watching him with narrowed eyes.

"Right, because smoking is the worst thing I've done for my health this year, right?" he asked, turning his attention back to the stars he'd been staring at.

He heard an amused snort behind him, before a warmth flooded him as Crouch sat down beside him.

"Are you going to share?"

"Wasn't planning on it, no," Regulus retorted, though he offered the cigarette packet and lighter with a huff. "I didn't even know you smoked."

"Now's always a good time to start."

"Right. What are you doing here, Crouch?"

"Couldn't sleep."

Regulus felt him shrug, a stab of empathy shooting through him. "Huh. Insomnia must be a side effect."

"Or the cause."

Frowning, Regulus looked at Crouch. "What do you mean?"

"My father. I'm sure you know who he is?"

"Of course."

"Hmm. He's the cause of my insomnia. And my rebellion. And everything else in my life, more than likely."

The words held so much bitterness that Regulus almost flinched. So, Bartemius Crouch Sr wasn't such a 'force of good' whilst at home. That wasn't particularly surprising.

"Well, I'm sure you're making him proud," Regulus murmured after a moment, winking when he saw the surprise on Crouch's face.

"Barty," he said, holding his hand out to Regulus.

"Regulus."

 _Oddly, Regulus still had no visions of Barty... though reality was shaping up better than his dreams ever had._

It was surprising, how fast the two bonded, Regulus thought. From that first handshake, to hugs, to comforting stroking of hair and skin, to kisses, and later, to stroking of a different nature, and the joining of two bodies in the best pleasures Regulus had ever felt.

Finishing school was no longer a chore, in fact, Regulus was holding onto every moment he could with Barty at his side. Stolen moments for just the two of them, studying together in the library, flitting up the stairs of the Astronomy Tower for the singular calming relief that only nicotine was capable of.

For a time, the notice me not charm hiding his mark from the world also gave him the illusion that he was just a boy, enjoying another boy, without any of the expectations waiting for them on the outside. Of course it couldn't last, but he enjoyed it to the fullest while it did.

The night before the end of their final term at Hogwarts, they enjoyed one final evening under the stars, clothes discarded, scents of their passion and smoke surrounding them in a blissful bubble that was just waiting to be popped.

 _And popped it was, with a bang, a shout and a vision that would haunt Regulus to the end of his admittedly few days._

Regulus wasn't expecting it. He wasn't prepared for it. Nicotine didn't help it, and as Barty lay beside him in bed, blissful ignorance keeping him peaceful in his sleep, Regulus was once more drowning in envy. He didn't want this responsibility. He didn't want to know that his boyfriend, his love, his... goddammit his everything was going to lose himself to the madness of the Dark.

The vision had been unclear for the most part. Regulus wasn't sure who else was there, nor when it was. He'd only had eyes for Barty. His Barty, only _not_. The eyes that usually shone with mischief or lust were dulled with anger or rage or just plain madness. The snarl on his face was unfamiliar. The way his hair was left messed was wrong, just plain _wrong_. The unbalanced way he stood, his wand in hand, gripped so tightly his knuckles were white, the dishevelled clothes that seemed to hang uncertainly on his body...

None of the vision was right. It couldn't be.

Regulus had the same vision over and over and over again. No more came to him. This was important, he knew. It was the only explanation. He'd have to stop this one from becoming reality. His Barty couldn't be allowed to become the monster of Regulus' dreams.

His Barty wasn't allowed to become the Dark Lord's Barty.

 _He couldn't have known that in trying to stop the vision from coming true, he was actually confirming it._

"Did you know?"

"Did you plan it together?"

 _"Crucio."_

"Did Regulus ever mention what he planned on doing?"

 _"Crucio."_

"Answer me, Crouch! What do you know?"

 _"CRUCIO!"_

"I didn't know anything," Barty begged, panting as tears flooded from his eyes. He was laid out on the floor, his arms bent at odd angles. Blood poured from a cut on his head. "Please, believe me. I didn't know. I didn't know. He left me... He left me too."

 _The vision came too late. It was the last thing Regulus saw before he was pulled into the water of the lake, inferi holding him to the bottom of the lake until he took his last breath._


End file.
